


Flesh of My Flesh

by Brigdh



Category: Strange Empire (TV)
Genre: Accidental Soul Bonding (Made Them Do It), Alternate Universe - Soulbonds, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fingerfucking, First Time, Marriage of Convenience, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6556738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/pseuds/Brigdh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU that takes off immediately from the point in canon of the marriage between Isabelle and Kat.</p><p>In a world with soulbonds, a marriage of convenience carries extra risks....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh of My Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/gifts).



The marriage was just for show. For legal purposes. Kat knew it, Mrs. Slotter knew it, and Kat was pretty damn sure the lawyer knew it too, though he seemed willing enough to pretend otherwise. Kat might be wearing a man’s suit with her hair tucked up under the accompanying hat, but that wouldn’t fool anyone who gave her a second look. 

Course, the disguise only needed to last for a few minutes, and then she and Mrs. Slotter could go back to working on opposite sides of Janestown. Kat had agreed to sham her way through the wedding ceremony and see the mine’s papers handed over, but nothing more than that.

Which was why, when the ring slid onto her finger and Kat’s heart gave a sudden twist and jerk, she held back a string of curses only by biting her lip near to bleeding.

She missed the lawyer’s next words, too preoccupied by her new, yet familiar, state. Soulbonds were subtle things, or grew to be, but this one hadn’t had time yet to fade into the back of her mind. It was like a band round her heart, pressed hard with each thump of that organ; a knot in her flesh that itched and worried; a braided cord running from her to Mrs. Slotter, letting Kat sense her new wife’s presence. They weren’t standing no closer to each other than they’d been before exchanging rings, but now Kat could feel the warmth off Mrs. Slotter’s skin and hear each quiet breath she drew. Kat risked a glance at her, and was struck like a bullet by the small part in Isabelle’s lips. The lower one was just slightly damp, like she’d smoothed her tongue across it.

Kat yanked her eyes back to the front. Whatever the city man did say, he must not have told them to kiss, because he’d thumped shut the Bible and was preparing to head off.

Mrs. Slotter must have felt it too – soulbonds didn’t come one-sided – but she gave no sign of it. Kat had watched her close while she’d placed her own ring over Mrs. Slotter’s gloved hand – not suspecting nothing, no, but simply for the sake of looking at the woman who was shortly to be her wife, false and brief as this marriage was intended to be. And Mrs. Slotter hadn’t flinched, hadn’t gasped – hadn’t so much as blinked. Her dark eyes had been wide open and steady as always while she received Kat’s ring, and her hands hadn’t hesitated in returning the gesture. She had looked just like a woman doing a job: one a bit unpleasant, perhaps, but not unexpected.

Kat made a fist so as to feel the cool band of metal press against her skin. She’d stopped wearing Jeremiah’s ring some time ago, and the sensation was new again. Awkward, too, like the ring might slip off and be lost if she weren’t careful of it.

She reminded herself that she didn’t want to kiss Isabelle Slotter anyway, not with herself still married to one man – missing – and engaged to another, off in Washington City.

The lawyer and Mrs. Slotter – Mrs. Smythe now, Kat thought with bitter irony – exchanged some papers and words about the mine and John Slotter’s will, but Kat didn’t care about none of that. She held her tongue until the lawyer had closed the door behind himself, then took off the man’s top hat she wore and let her hair fall back down around her, raking a hand through it to get it out of her face.

“Thought this was a legal marriage only,” she said, staring hard at Mrs. Slotter.

Mrs. Slotter’s lips pursed, but she didn’t look up from studying her papers. “There is no legal marriage between two women, Mrs. Loving. You know that.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kat snapped. “Not now.”

Mrs. Slotter finally looked at her. Her eyes were a deep brown, richer than Kat had ever noticed before. They were the color of black coffee, of old leather, of the trail just outside the coal mine, where red fertile earth and black coal dust mixed together. And then Mrs. Slotter quirked one eyebrow, breaking Kat’s focus.

“Oh? And what would you prefer I call you, husband mine? Mr. Smythe?”

“Kat.”

Mrs. Slotter’s hands twitched against the papers she held, but her face gave away nothing. “All right. Kat. And now I suppose you want me to tell you to call me Isabelle, and that we’ll be such dear, dear friends. Is that right?”

Kat said nothing.

Mrs. Slotter held the silence for just long enough to make her point, then changed the topic. “Don’t blame me for this soulbond. You assured me that your husband was still alive.”

“He is,” Kat said, the words feeling like a rote catechism in her mouth by now. She knew the sounds, but no longer felt the meaning.

Mrs. Slotter smirked, then deliberately drew off one of her black lace gloves. She struck out, quick as a rattlesnake, and caught Kat’s hand in hers before Kat had realized her intentions.

It was the first time they had touched bare skin to bare skin since the bond had formed. The sensation of it arced through Kat like a lightening bolt – but it came to ground not beneath her boots but low in her belly, earthing itself in her cunt and clit. Her hand impulsively tightened around Mrs. Slotter’s in a bruising grip, and Kat’s back curved, her chin going up. She became aware of the brush of her nipples against the worn linen of her borrowed shirt; they’d gone from being just another spot on her body to hard pebbles of aching sensitivity.

All of it lasted for no more than an instant, and then Kat recovered her control and snatched her hand free. She was gratified to see that even Mrs. Slotter hadn’t been able to maintain her cool impassivity; the woman was panting, her chest rising and falling beneath the green silk of her dress.

Kat made a fist of the hand that Mrs. Slotter had touched, and then shook it, like a soulbond was nothing more than water drops she could shake off of herself. “You made your point.”

Mrs. Slotter cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down against her skirts. The motion drew Kat’s eyes to the shape of her hips and thighs, visible for a moment as her dress’s fabric was drawn tight to her body, and then hidden once more as her petticoats fell back into place.

Kat wondered if Mrs. Slotter’s palm was damp. Had she begun to sweat at their touch, had her skin flushed hot? If Kat took back her hand, would she feel –

No. Kat wasn’t going to think about that, not with John Slotter barely cold in his grave and her own husband’s life still an unanswered question. And Kat was sure that it _was_ unanswered, no matter what anyone else thought – marriage laws and new soulbonds included.

“Despite this unwanted presence,” Mrs. Slotter said, drawing Kat’s attention from her lustful thoughts, “our deal remains unaltered. We are married in name only – and a name that isn’t even yours, I might point out.”

“You intend for us to just – just _ignore_ this?”

“What else? An awkwardly-timed soulbond might be a new experience for you, Mrs. Loving,” and Mrs. Loving gave her name just enough emphasis that Kat was sure it wasn’t a slip, “but it is not for me.” She set her shoulders and lifted her chin, holding herself stiff as the suit of armor in a fairy tale. “Ignore it indeed. It’s not hard, and you’re an intelligent woman. Close your eyes and think of someone else. I’m sure that you’ll have subdued any unwelcome thoughts in no time at all.”

She gave her papers another pat, though they were already straight and aligned, and turned her back on Kat’s shocked expression. The door closed behind her with a solid thump.

* * *

Mrs. Slotter, Kat discovered, had been right. Without the other woman’s presence nearby, without the sight or the feel of her skin mere feet away, the soulbond’s nagging insistence faded to nothing more than a low hum in the back of her mind.

Kat should have been grateful. Instead she resented that Mrs. Slotter had so easily predicted this outcome.

And relief from the physical demands of the soulbond did nothing for her own moral sense that it was wrong to ignore it like this, same way as it would be wrong to cover up a plant until it died for lack of light. Kat didn’t believe soulbonds were a sign from God; the Church and the Government and her father’s people each had their own stories about that, and not a one lined up with the others. Besides, no one seemed to understand why the bonds came – or didn’t come, as it were. Kat had seen loving couples without that supernatural spark, and others who had it but screamed and fought and seemed as well-suited to being tethered as a tomcat and a hound.

She knew many stories all right, but none had two people bonded who just went on their separate ways. Course, that might be because anyone who did such a thing was ashamed to admit it.

She’d tried to ask the doctor about it, but Mrs. Blithely’d just said, “I haven’t studied that topic, I’m afraid.” Then she’d proceeded to talk for long enough for Robin to draw two buckets of water and haul them back to the crib, which seemed like more than enough studying to Kat, but none of the doctor’s chatter had helped much. Kat didn’t need to know where soulbonds were located in the body or if they were tissue or liquid; she’d just wanted to know if one could wither. The doctor hadn’t had an answer for that.

She had seen Mrs. Slotter now and then, though always from a distance. One morning Kat had glimpsed her standing on the porch of the big house, her dress a vibrant blue that spoke of a sunny sky that hadn’t been present, the day being gray and cloudy. A black shawl wrapped around Mrs. Slotter’s shoulders had been her only concession to mourning, and was more likely for the thick strips of fog drifting over the ground than her dead old husband and missing new one.

She didn’t think Mrs. Slotter had spied her. The woman had had a softness to her stance that she almost never did, at least not out where other people might see. She had seemed a little smaller too, a little younger; not so much the cold-blooded serpent.

Looks didn’t mean nothing, though, Kat knew that. Mrs. Slotter had used John mercilessly, used his father and Ling and Ruby and anyone else who was foolish enough to care for her.

But there was a part of Kat’s heart that yearned after the distant silhouette of Mrs. Slotter. Maybe it was just the soulbond. Maybe not.

Damn that name anyway. Maybe Captain Slotter would burn for his sins, just as he’d believed, and maybe Isabelle had helped him, but it was time enough for her to be free of his association. Damn the vanished Mr. Smythe too. Whatever she was, Isabelle could carry her own name from now own, at least in Kat’s thoughts.

She spent that night twisting and turning in her bed, trying to keep her restlessness quiet as possible for the sake of Robin and Kelly, who slept nearby soundly as babes. What Kat had felt in the morning, watching Isabelle drink her coffee, had been soft and yearning, like a dress kept folded until its colors faded and dust settled in the creases. She had felt it like a bruise behind her breastbone and a prickle in dry eyes.

What she felt now was hot and itchy, and centered between her legs.

Kat flung herself over onto her other side, resisting the urge to slide a hand down and see to herself. Not with her daughters in the same room. And why should she have to take care of herself anyway? She and Isabelle weren’t like lovers who had no other option, one of them being at sea or gone away to serve for a soldier. Isabelle was right across the field, not even a five minute’s walk.

Isabelle had been the one to propose. This whole marriage – legal or not – had been her idea, and now she refused to acknowledge the consequences. Kat considered it was high time that Isabelle’s responsibilities came home to roost.

She threw back her blanket and quickly dressed, not caring much about if her tails were tucked in or if every tie was done up proper. She didn’t plan to keep wearing them for long, after all.

It was late enough that she saw no one on her way from her crib to the big house, but lights still burned in the windows on the second floor. Kat hesitated on the porch; should she barge her way in? Or should she knock and wait to be properly announced? It seemed strange to expect anyone to hear her knock at this hour of the night.

She tried the handle and found it locked. Well, that was one question answered.

She knocked politely. When no one came she banged the heel of her hand against the wood of the doorframe, getting louder as she kept on waiting. Someone shouted a protest from the cribs across the way – a man’s rough voice – but she ignored them.

Finally she heard the click of the lock being thrown back and stopped her pounding. The door cracked open, Isabelle herself revealed through the narrow slit. Her hair was braided back in preparation for sleep and her feet were bare. All that was visible of her clothes was a dressing robe which appeared to have been hastily thrown on; the tie at her waist was already slipping loose. Kat was distracted by the thought of what might be beneath. Did Isabelle wear white lacy nightgowns, as proper and stylish as her day-gowns? Or did she sleep nude?

Kat’s eyes dropped to Isabelle’s bare ankle, the slight curve of her calf just below the hem of the robe.

But for all the change in her clothing, Isabelle’s face and voice were the same as ever – and currently irritated. “Well?” she snapped, drawing Kat’s eyes back up in a hurry. “What’s the matter?”

 _I’m horny, that’s what’s the matter_ , Kat thought, but wisely did not say.

Isabelle frowned at her silence. “I hope for your sake that you have a damn good reason for waking me up.”

“I think you’d prefer it if we talked inside,” Kat said, her voice quiet. 

Isabelle took a breath to continue arguing, but then seemed to think better of it. With a huff she swung the door wide, then quickly slammed it closed again as soon as Kat had stepped inside.

Isabelle set her hands to her hips, raised an eyebrow. “Good enough?”

Kat’s own low tide of resentment sparked into outright flame. It could have been the supposed ability of a soulbond to transmit emotions between couples, but it equally could have been Isabelle’s sharp tongue and short temper. A responding barb leapt to Kat’s lips, but she forced it back; as satisfying as it would have been to answer snipe with snipe, it wouldn’t get her what she wanted.

“Is this the way you treat your husband?” Kat asked. All right. So that wasn’t entirely nice, but at least she’d managed to keep her tone gentle.

Isabelle snorted. “You’re not my husband. I wouldn’t tie myself to one of those worthless creatures again if it was the only way to get into heaven.”

“I may not be your husband, but I am your...” Kat searched uselessly for a word to describe their relationship before surrendering. “We have a soulbond. You can deny it and ignore it till the last trumpet sounds, but it’ll still be the truth. Better for the both of us if we face up to facts.”

“What do you want?” Isabelle’s face was hard to read in the dark of the front parlor, but her voice sounded like a woman stalling for time, a woman not sure if her cards were good enough to put up the ante.

“Not your money. Not control over you, nor any of your belongings.”

“Ah. So it’s the other thing, then.” Isabelle nodded. “All right. It won’t be the first time that I’ve fucked a woman.”

Kat flinched. “Goddamn it, Isabelle, not like that. You must feel _something_. This soulbond’s driving me to distraction – don’t lie to me that you’re all coolness. What do you want? And tell me the truth. ”

“So it’s Isabelle now. Didn’t wait too long, did you?” Isabelle ignored her question and turned, moving silently across the wooden floor toward the staircase. “Come on then, _Kat_.”

Kat followed, the clomp of her boots comparatively loud. Ruby and Cornelius Slotter had gone, and though Isabelle wasn’t the only resident of the big house left, the stillness of the night made it feel like no one existed except for the two of them. Janestown wasn’t often quiet, but there was a hush over it now, a moment without fighting or preaching.

A door on the second floor had been left half open, lamplight spilling across its threshold. On the staircase Isabelle’s pale green robe was as ethereal and faint as a beam of moonlight, but she gained color and definition with each step she climbed, until she was herself again, solidly human. She turned just before the door to watch Kat approach. 

“I ain’t never paid for sex,” Kat said warily. “Ain’t never taken money for it neither.”

“Good for you.” Isabelle’s voice held neither anger nor shame; it was flat and empty as the surface of a mirror.

“I just mean – don’t you want this, not at all? You must feel the tug of the bond same as I do.”

Isabelle stepped backwards, the door swinging wide as her shoulders hit it. Kat glanced around the room. She’d been here before, but not since John Slotter had died. Isabelle didn’t seem to have changed much. The room was cleaner: the table and dresser empty of the clutter of whiskey bottles and sticky glasses that had been there before. A book lay facedown near the head of the bed, as though Isabelle had left it there when she’d heard Kat’s knocking, and a lantern burned nearby, its glass chimney black with soot at the top.

Kat chanced a step closer. “Isabelle,” she said softly. The woman’s eyes cut to her, but she said nothing and stayed right where she was. “I don’t want to _take_ nothing from you. But we’re stuck in this situation together. Only a fool would ignore that two can do more than one. And you may be a lot of things, Isabelle Slo – Isabelle Smythe, but you sure ain’t no fool.”

Isabelle’s lips curved, a movement so small Kat might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking for it. 

“So let’s make a new deal, you and I. Our problem’s changed, so it’s only fair to change the terms as well.”

A crease marked Isabelle’s forehead between her brows. “What are you proposing?”

“Nothing much. You help me and I help you. It needn’t be every night, and no one else got to know. I figure that this part of a marriage oughta be just between you and me anyway.”

That provoked Isabelle into outright laughter, a low and smoky sound. Kat inched closer, feeling in her bones a sense-memory of being taught to hunt as a child: slow and steady, with no sudden moves. Don’t stare, don’t shout. Even wild animals won’t run if you approach them right.

She lifted her hand to Isabelle’s arm, just above her elbow. The silk of the robe was cool and soft against Kat’s fingers, not quite like anything she’d felt before. It had leather’s smoothness, but was more fragile than that; it had the sleekness of fresh-combed hair, but was thin as a piece of paper. Minuscule threads, slender as cobwebs, snagged on callouses of Kat’s palm.

Isabelle glanced down to where they touched, then raised her eyes, staring blatantly, greedily, back at Kat. She studied each part of her face – eyes, lips, anything she could see. There was nothing reserved or calculating about her now; she was all hunger and passion. “You sure you’re really willing to give up what I want to take?”

Kat nodded. She was aware of the beat of her own pulse in her clit, the coal-fire that burned where her palm was so close to Isabelle’s skin, the slowly warming silk the only barrier left between them.

She did want this. Hell, she wanted it so much that she’d stomped over here in the middle of the night rather than wait till morning. But Kat realized only now that she wasn’t entirely sure of what _this_ involved. She’d never slept with a woman before. And Isabelle was looking at her like a fox looks at a chicken.

She wasn’t scared though. She was pretty sure no chicken had ever wanted to be eaten as much as she wanted Isabelle to do – whatever she was going to do. “It’s what I came here for, ain’t it?” she whispered, her throat abruptly dry.

Isabelle’s hand came up and took hold of her chin, locking Kat in place while Isabelle’s mouth covered her own. For a instant the kiss was only lips, soft and lush, and then Isabelle’s tongue traced along the seam of her mouth. Kat gasped as the sensation shot through her, and Isabelle took her opening mouth as an invitation.

Not that it wasn’t. Kat met Isabelle’s tongue with her own, licking and sucking, and pressed her body forward, attempting to back Isabelle against the door. Isabelle didn’t go easily though, growling into the kiss and grinding her hips against Kat’s. They were near grappling as they kissed, but each twist and press of their bodies just brought new parts together, fanning the flames of Kat’s desire.

Finally Isabelle broke the kiss, holding Kat away by her shoulders. She was panting open-mouthed, and a lank of her hair had fallen from her night-braid and curled next to her cheek. Kat realized that she’d her hands up in Isabelle’s hair.

“If you’re so certain that you want this to be about what I like,” Isabelle said, “then we’ll do it my way.”

Kat wanted to kiss her again, right now. They’d already waited for days to do this; even another instant felt too long. But she made herself respond, “I’m ready. Just tell me what to do.”

Isabelle’s eyes traced over her again, this time taking in more than just Kat’s face. Kat wore a jacket and trousers, as she always did these days, but Isabelle’s gaze made her feel bare already. She moved her hands to her belt buckle, anticipating Isabelle’s first request, but she was wrong.

Isabelle stepped forward, close enough for their chests to touch, and slipped her hands in between Kat’s. “I’ll do that,” she said. Kat nodded, but kept her hands where they were, only spreading them wide enough to give Isabelle room to move. Isabelle’s bare hands seemed strangely intimate like this, stripped of her usual gloves. They were slender and soft, and Kat curled her fingers inwards to trace the back of her hands, the soft skin over the thin bones, as Isabelle worked open the belt and then the fly. 

This close she could smell Isabelle. Perfume and powder – sweet, feminine scents which Kat had never worn herself. She knew better than to think that Isabelle was some pampered lady, but she wore the trappings of one very well. Isabelle had steel in her, but she kept it concealed. Kat had steel too, clear for anyone to see on her surface, but beneath it she was soft. She loved too many, was too concerned with justice in a world that didn’t give a damn about any soul’s righteousness or evil. She and Isabelle were too different to fit.

But even as Kat thought those things, Isabelle’s fingers slipped inside her trousers and eased them down over Kat’s hips, then let them fall. The belt buckle hit the floor with a metallic clank, but all else was silent, the night air cool on her thighs. Kat and Isabelle were usually the same height, but with Kat in her boots and Isabelle bare-footed, she was an inch or two shorter. She looked up at Kat, her eyes dark and wide. Kat could see a gleam of liquid on Isabelle’s lower lip, and that shining speck of moisture made her belly clench.

Kat’s boots kept her trousers tangled around the ankles, making it impossible for her to walk without tripping. The bed was still several feet away, the two of them stranded halfway between it and the open door, the empty hallway. Kat tore her eyes away from Isabelle to check, but there was no one there other than shadows.

Isabelle sank to her knees, the dressing robe pooling around her without a snag, and Kat’s attention was drawn back instantly to the woman her body was singing out for, craving like cool water. Those graceful hands drifted across her thighs with a touch so light it nearly tickled, though Kat felt no compulsion to laugh. Isabelle slid downwards, though Kat’s desire would have had her going up, moving slowly as a falling leaf, until she settled on the laces of Kat’s right boot. Without a word, Isabelle undid the tie and peeled the tongue open, then held it for Kat to step back. She did the same for the other boot, and then Kat stood before her, naked from the waist down and fully clothed above it.

“The bed,” Isabelle said, her voice betraying her calm face with a rough burr of desire. Kat stumbled backwards, not wanting to turn her eyes away from Isabelle, until she felt the mattress hit the back of her calves and sat down heavily.

Isabelle didn’t bother to rise but crawled forward like a hunting cat, and Kat found that it was possible to reach an entirely new level of wanting. Scattered thoughts shot across her mind – that she should undress Isabelle in turn, pull her up beside her, kiss her into soft agreement – but they all vanished when Isabelle reached her and set her hands to Kat’s knees. She stroked the skin for an instant, and then shoved them apart.

Kat moaned, her cunt untouched and yet perilously close to coming. Isabelle slid her hands up Kat’s thighs, her touch not gentle now but possessive and commanding, forcing Kat’s legs still wider. Kat fell back flat against the bed, disregarding the rumpled sheets beneath her, the open door, her sweaty skin sticking to her shirt. Disregarding everything except for the press of Isabelle’s fingers along her skin and how she could feel the weight of Isabelle’s gaze on her exposed cunt.

Isabelle didn’t pause when she reached the center of Kat’s thighs; her hands deftly moved to spread Kat’s outer folds. Kat was so wet that Isabelle’s fingers slipped, then took a firmer hold. Kat felt a push of air on her hot center – Isabelle blowing on her. She gasped, her hips bucking up in search of more, and then Isabelle’s mouth was on her. She ignored Kat’s clit, instead kissing her opened cunt, her tongue rough as a cat’s and moving in short, firm strokes. Kat grabbed fistfuls of the sheet beneath her and moaned again, louder this time, no longer caring if there was anyone in the house to overhear. Her eyes shut tight of their own volition, overwhelmed by what Isabelle was doing.

If Kat had ever considered how Isabelle fucked – and to be honest she had considered it quite frequently over the last few days – she would have assumed her style to be elegant, artistic, practically a work of art. Instead she was ruthless. Kat felt like Isabelle might literally devour her, and right now that didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. 

Isabelle licked her from top to bottom in a long stroke, her tongue flat, then jabbed it inside Kat’s cunt, a shallow thrust that nonetheless seemed to fill her. Kat replaced her moaning with a scream, and reached down to take hold of Isabelle’s head. Her curls were soft beneath Kat’s hands, but all she cared about was holding Isabelle right where she was. 

Not that Isabelle was trying to get away. In fact she responded by wedging her hands beneath Kat’s ass and grabbing on tight, dragging her in an infinitesimal bit closer. She was working Kat over roughly now, tasting her hard and fast, and Kat was already trembling right on the edge of climax when Isabelle finally shifted up to her clit. She gave it just a hint of teeth, then latched on and sucked. The pain transformed into pure goodness as it shot up Kat’s spine, and then she was falling, falling, her whole body clenching hard and riding peaks of pleasure that were too short and sharp to be called waves; they were more like sparks, exploding in white bursts behind her eyes.

When Kat had caught her breath and come back to herself, she sat up on her elbows and looked down. Isabelle had pulled back but not otherwise moved. Her simple braid was a bird’s nest now, curls going every which way, the normally thick strands frayed into cotton fineness. Her cheeks were flushed – shortness of breath or desire? – and her mouth and chin were almost wet enough to drip. As Kat watched, Isabelle licked her lips, and Kat swallowed hard with a rush of need, already reawakened.

“Get up here,” she said, ignoring the coarseness of her own voice. “And take off those clothes.” 

Isabelle met her gaze, her eyes challenging. “Why? You’ve got what you wanted. I never asked for anything from you.”

Kat considered debating that, but Isabelle was too good with words and she knew it would be nothing but a waste of time. Instead she patted the space beside her. “Come on,” she said, soft as she could. _Wild animals don’t come to braggarts._

Isabelle still delayed, but her eyes were bright and her breath was fast. She stood, untied her dressing robe, and let it fall to the floor behind her.

Kat would have liked to see Isabelle’s nude form, of course, but she wasn’t disappointed with this sight either. Isabelle wore a nightshirt of white linen, the cloth so fine that it was nearly sheer; her nipples and patch of hair were hints of dark shadow beneath it. They were no trimmings on the shirt – no lace, no fancy embroidery, no ribbon at the hem or neck – but it shouted its quality through nothing more than color and texture. It was whiter than anything Kat had ever owned; it was near the whitest thing she’d ever seen, the color of fresh-fallen snow or starlight. Against that blankness, Isabelle’s skin gleamed, deep and rich and utterly beautiful. The contrast also made her hair look almost black where it had fallen down about her shoulders and lay against the nightshirt. Not true black, though – there were too many threads of copper and bronze and mahogany in it for that. Kat could have lost herself in following in each strand of color, cataloging their differences and similarities. She could have spent a lifetime just studying this single sight.

But there were important things to do first.

She reached out and took hold of Isabelle’s wrist to tug her down into a kiss. The nightshirt brushed against Kat’s bare legs, the cloth warm from resting next to Isabelle’s body. Kat shivered and slid her hand up the back of Isabelle’s arm, coming to rest against the nape of Isabelle’s neck. The kiss deepened, neither of them yet satisfied. Kat bit Isabelle’s lower lip to feel her shake, her breath losing its steady rhythm.

Isabelle lifted a knee onto the bed to balance herself, and Kat took advantage, looping her arm around Isabelle’s waist and turning to sweep her off her feet and onto the bed. It was a wrestling move, though Kat turned it slow and gentle for this use. Still Isabelle’s breath caught in her throat and she looked up at Kat from flat on her back, curls scattered around her face like a halo of wood shavings, with a new vulnerability in her expression.

Kat pulled back. One of her legs lay between Isabelle’s thighs and their chests brushed together with each quick shallow breath of Isabelle’s. “Tell me no,” Kat whispered. Isabelle’s brown eyes were wide, fixed on her face like it was a book she could read. “Or tell me yes.”

Isabelle nodded once, slowly, then her expression firmed. “Yes,” she said, loud and clear. She reached down and rucked up the hem of her nightshirt, revealing her thighs, heartbreakingly long and slim and inviting Kat’s touch. “Kat Loving, I want you to fuck me.”

Kat kissed her fiercely, letting herself fall onto Isabelle, pressing Isabelle down against the mattress, into its feather softness. Isabelle kissed back, her mouth eager, her body velvet curves against Kat’s harder self. Kat felt glorious. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure of the sex, but a sense of rightness, of joy, singing through the soulbond and setting her veins on fire.

Kat wormed her hand between them and took a moment to stroke up Isabelle’s thigh, finding it to be just as soft as it had looked. She couldn’t see what she was doing without breaking the kiss, but she didn’t need to; Isabelle’s shape itself directed her toward her goal. The line of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the eager jerk of her mound up against Kat’s palm, all of it showed her where to go. Kat curled her fingers inward when she reached Isabelle’s folds, and found that delicate skin hot and wet. Isabelle flung back her head with a loud groan. Kat didn’t let that put a halt to her kissing; she moved on across Isabelle’s face, down her neck, to her shoulder where the nightshirt was tugged aside. She pressed her tongue against the hollow above Isabelle’s collarbone and felt her pulse beating quick and hard.

Isabelle had worked her over fast, and though Kat had no complaints she didn’t intend to do the same here. She let her fingers drift slowly over Isabelle’s cunt, exploring all of her, teasing at the outer folds, circling wide around her clit. Isabelle squirmed beneath her, but she didn’t seem displeased. Kat flicked her thumb over Isabelle’s clit and was rewarded with a wordless shout, Isabelle’s body arching up against hers as her spine bent like a bow. 

Kat moved back away from there, ignoring Isabelle’s mumbled curses, and slid her fingers down the seam of Isabelle’s cunt. She slipped one inside, careful as she went, but Isabelle’s inner muscles clenched hard around her, Isabelle’s hands doing the same to Kat’s shoulders. Her fingernails were sharp points – blunted by the layers of Kat’s shirt and waistcoat and jacket, but Kat could still feel them dig in each time she moved her hand, each time she pressed her finger deeper. 

Kat added another finger and Isabelle shuddered all over, her mouth opening and closing now in total silence. Kat drew her hand in and out, fucking slowly while she watched and listened for Isabelle’s reactions, no matter how small. She wanted to know the places that made her gasp, the speed that she preferred – she wanted to know every single thing about this act. She wanted to know how to make Isabelle smile without the usual bitterness in her eyes.

Kat let her thumb edge toward Isabelle’s clit even as she kept her fingers moving in deep, slow thrusts. One brush against it, two – and then Isabelle was coming, her cunt tight as a vise around Kat’s hand and her lower lip caught between her teeth, bitten hard enough to turn the flesh pale. She pressed her head back against the mattress so hard that the tendons on her neck stood out like cords. Kat kept stroking the inner walls of her cunt, trying to draw out the orgasm, and she could feel the waves that moved through Isabelle’s body: fast and short at first, then lingering, long and slow as a river’s current.

The tension seeped away from Isabelle, and she slumped back down to the bed, curling slightly onto her side. Kat carefully withdrew her hand, but for all her caution Isabelle gave a little gasp, her breasts jerking up beneath her nightshirt. She looked relaxed and sleepy as a kitten, but she watched Kat steadily from beneath half-lidded eyes.

Kat sat up, shrugged her arms out of her jacket and tossed it to the floor on the side of the bed, then set to unbuttoning her waistcoat. When she was naked, she reached down to the foot of the bed to tug the sheet up over both her and Isabelle.

Isabelle had made no comment about either step, but before Kat could lie down she said, “Put out that lantern.”

Kat hesitated, looking down at Isabelle, but the other woman’s face gave no sign of her thoughts. Kat shrugged and leaned over the side of the bed, lifted up the glass chimney and blew out the wick within. The sharp stink of smoke filled her nose, and as she lay back down she could see nothing for the new darkness. 

Even without sight she could feel Isabelle beside her, her limbs warm and soft. For a moment they lay side by side like sisters sharing a bed, and then Isabelle moved toward her and tucked her head onto Kat’s shoulder. Kat let her arm curl around Isabelle’s waist, holding her close.

“You need to leave before anyone’s at breakfast,” Isabelle said.

“All right.”

“But you can come back tomorrow night. As long as you’re careful.”

A smile crossed Kat’s face, but she was quick to school her expression back to blankness before Isabelle’s eyes could adjust and see it. No sense in rushing matters.

**Author's Note:**

> So many thank yous to within_a_dream and thewalrus_said for being excellent betas. :D
> 
> The title comes from Genesis 2:23, a phrase often used in wedding ceremonies.


End file.
